It Won't Stop, I Have No Control
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Sequel to "I Wish She'd Stay Mine." Liz Moore is off to her next gig as the GM of Smackdown. But when she arrives, she finds much more than she bargained for - and the last six months are revealed for what they really were. Rated M: Language, violence.
1. Chapter 1

I rested my head against the tiny window, watching as Indianapolis shrank beneath us.

I was going home. My apartment in Stamford awaited, and I don't believe I'd ever been more eager to walk through the door.

It had been a strange night on top of a strange week, and I was looking forward to returning to an uncomplicated reality – even if only for a short while.

I'd received a phone call not ten minutes after I'd rushed out of the arena. Vince McMahon. He congratulated me on helping make a wonderful, compelling match on Raw and wanted to offer me the GM position on Smackdown, effective immediately.

I'd nearly burst into tears of relief. It explained almost everything. Sheamus suddenly coming to my aid, Reigns throwing the match, Ambrose's reluctant agreement to lose.

My one concern – and it stuck deep in my brain, more than it probably should have – why would Heyman offer me a job if he knew that I was going to be GM of Smackdown?

Vince hadn't been backstage. Heyman wouldn't have had his guys throw the match for any reason, so Vince must have told him his plans and why Ambrose needed to cut me loose immediately. I tried to tell myself that Heyman was just feeling me out to see if _I_ knew about Vince's plan for me, but it simply didn't feel right. Heyman was the type of man to throw his knowledge in your face – not hint and scheme. Not unless there was something to be gained by doing so. I couldn't think of what that might be, and that was what was troubling me.

I closed my eyes and tried to shake away those thoughts. I wanted to focus on getting home and healing before I hit the road again. Vince, kindly, had given me a week to do just that.

I needed to come back strong. The wrestlers – and the audience, to a degree – had seen me weakened and shamed. I'd need to fight against that perception right off the bat. I'd have to make an example of whoever decided to challenge me, but I also wanted to make some kind of pre-emptive strike against that kind of behavior.

Ambrose had certainly done me no favors with his lewd comments about me on live television.

Ambrose. There was another subject I was avoiding.

He had, as he'd stated he would, gone just a little insane when the final bell rang and I was free to leave. Sheamus wasn't having a good time of it when I'd finally taken advantage of my new freedom. Prior to that, the announce table, the timekeeper's station, and the stage set up on the ramp had all had a terrible time at the hands of Mr. Ambrose.

I was dreading landing for the simple fact that I'd have to turn my phone back on. I was sure that there would be something hateful for me to either read or listen to when I hit the power button. Well, either hateful or full of declarations of love and heartbreak. I truthfully wasn't sure which would be worse.

I mentally sighed. Here was one more situation I needed to retreat from for a short while. Heyman, Smackdown, Ambrose…it all swirled in my head in a jumbled mess, and it was exhausting. I'd been through enough in the last few months, and even more in the last week alone. I needed to clear my head of all the extraneous worries and just focus on getting ready for my next challenge – running the locker room of the blue brand.


	2. Chapter 2

My week in Stamford went entirely too quickly.

I didn't hear from Ambrose. I did send text messages to Seth and Roman later in the week, when I knew they would all be home and away from prying eyes. I thanked them both for what they'd done – I knew the risk of suffering Ambrose's wrath had been a very serious one.

I never heard back from either man. I tried not to let that sting.

My bruises had mostly healed in the short time I was home. I stopped limping. The only thing that remained on my body was the imprint of Ambrose's teeth in my shoulder. I was pretty sure I'd have a scar there for the rest of my life. At least it was the only physical damage that I'd sustained. Mentally and emotionally, I was still a little shaky – but I started to work through my anger and the last remnants of residual fear seemed to be slowly dissipating.

Before I knew it, I was getting ready to board my flight to Shreveport and run my first show.

In truth, I wasn't entirely sure that I was ready – but I'd felt much the same way for my first Monday Night Raw, and look how that had turned out.

Look how that had turned out, indeed. Ok, so maybe Raw wasn't my best example. But it was all I had to go on, so I rolled with it and tried to minimize the ending. Up until the end, I'd done all right. That was the important thing to remember.

I set myself up in my hotel room in Shreveport and began working almost immediately. I wanted to go in tomorrow with mostly everything set, so that I could spend some time with the talent and get a better sense of my locker room. That was going to be crucial.

I tried to ignore the clock as it ticked closer and closer to the start of Raw. I wanted to go in to Smackdown fresh and unbiased. I didn't need whatever happened on Raw hanging over my head. It wasn't, I told myself, that I was afraid to see what was going to happen.

At 9:04, I failed miserably in my quest and finally turned on the television.

And my timing was impeccable.

Ambrose was laying waste to Sheamus yet again. Rollins and Reigns were nowhere to be found. I watched, appalled, while he repeatedly dropped his knee into Sheamus' head. The Irishman was bleeding profusely, and the referees were trying to pull Ambrose away – but he kept going back for him, muttering to himself angrily all the while.

Finally, Heyman came out and escorted Dean from the ring, an arm flung around the younger man's shoulders.

Ambrose was twitching, still muttering darkly to himself.

I immediately turned the show off.


	3. Chapter 3

My heart was pounding in my chest as I was announced to be the new GM of Smackdown.

I made my way out to the ring with a smile, shaking Vince McMahon's hand before taking the microphone to address the crowd on my intentions.

I didn't get the chance.

Wade Barrett's music started, and the cocky Englishman strutted down to the ring.

"All due respect, Ms. Moore," he said, climbing in beside me, "but are you sure you're capable of handling the responsibilities that come with this position?"

I raised my eyebrows questioningly, and he continued. "Are you sure you're capable of handling the superstars appropriately? We all heard how you 'handled' Dean Ambrose. That sort of bawdy behavior won't fly here on Smackdown."

He grinned as if he was making the funniest joke in the world.

"Oh, Mr. Barrett," I said slowly, a smile creeping onto my face. "I knew that someone was going to try this. I am _so_ glad it's you."

His eyes narrowed and he stepped back from me just a little bit. The smile on my face felt unnatural, and I could feel my blood pounding angrily in my veins.

"You're running the gauntlet tonight, my friend," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're running a six-man no-DQ gauntlet in a steel cage, in fact. For your Intercontinental Championship."

He exploded angrily. "That's not –"

"As my commentator says, Mr. Barrett," I cut across him, raising the volume of my voice, "'We fight on Friday night.' If you're a coward, say so – I can give that title to someone who deserves it."

"I'm no coward," he replied quietly, shaking his head.

"Then you shouldn't have a problem with this match. Thank you so much, Mr. Barrett. I look forward to your continued support." I went to exit the ring, my heart bounding in my chest. I turned back to look at him. "And, Mr. Barrett, one more thing."

He turned to look at me, glowering angrily. "If you _ever_ mention the horrible things Dean Ambrose said about me again, I'll find a way to make your life even more miserable. Is that clear to you, sir?"

"Abundantly," he growled.

"Excellent."

I stalked backstage, the talent parting before me. I wish I could say that there was a healthy mixture of fear and respect on their faces – but I was too pissed off to notice.

I had made the contingency plan, just in case someone got uppity about my recent history. I had really hoped that I wouldn't have to use it. Then, before I can say a word – I had a nice speech about how honored I was to be on Smackdown – someone had to show up and shoot off their mouth.

It had really put a damper on my evening.

"Liz," a voice said, an arm spinning me around.

I was ready to yell, until I saw the pale skin and shock of bright red hair. I forced the hostile words back down my throat.

"Sheamus, hey," I replied, trying to smile.

"Are you all right? That was a little…brutal…of you."

I glanced around. We were relatively alone; the few people milling about in the area were pointedly refusing to look in my direction, lest I publicly whip them or something.

"I had to, Sheamus," I said in a low voice. "I can't let you guys run ragged over me because of what happened with Ambrose. I needed to make an example out of Barrett."

He nodded in agreement, although he still looked concerned. "I understand, Lizzy." He smiled, but I could tell it wasn't totally genuine. "I'm glad it was Wade. Couldn't have happened to a nicer gent."

It was my turn to nod in agreement. "Sheamus," I said, taking a deep breath, "I never said thank you for what you did for me. I'm sorry for that."

He shrugged. "It was nothing. Any man worth their salt would have done the same."

"But _you _were the one who did it. I'm very grateful for that." I paused, studying his face and noting, for the first time, the small bruise on his cheek. "You're not too badly hurt, are you?"

"Me? Nah. I've got a big old block head. It'll take a Mac truck to do any lasting damage to me." His smile became much more genuine, and I found myself responding in kind.

"All the same…I appreciate what you went through for me." I reached out and lightly touched his shoulder, finding it suddenly difficult to hold back tears. "Between you and me, I'm not sure how much longer I could have lasted. I needed to get out of there."

"Come here, Liz," he said gently, opening his arms. I stepped into one of the fiercest hugs I'd ever received, my face smushed into his chest. I found that I didn't necessarily mind.

"You could have lasted a lot longer than you did. Don't doubt that, lass," he murmured into my ear. "I'm just glad you didn't have to."

We pulled apart, and I felt much more at ease than I had been.

"So!" Sheamus said, clapping his hands together eagerly, a wild grin on his face. "Who am I fighting tonight?"

This was what I loved about the crazy Irish bastard.


	4. Chapter 4

All told, my first night back was decently successful.

I'd made an enemy out of Wade Barrett, who had lost his title in the third match of his gauntlet. He came to the back cursing me out heartily.

But, during his long, long, _long _string of obscenities and suggestions on what I could do to certain parts of his anatomy with certain parts of my anatomy, he didn't mention Ambrose's name once. I had accomplished what I'd set out to do. I just hoped it was the last time I'd have to take that kind of action.

It awakened an anger in me that I didn't like. I hated feeling rage bubbling beneath the surface, and I knew it was dangerous for me to be in a position of authority without a level head. I hoped that tonight would be the end of it, and I could get back to doing what I did best without interruption.

I was packing up when there was a knock at my door. Glancing up, I saw a large fruit basket with hands standing in the open doorway. I was momentarily struck by more than a little confusion on when fruit baskets became sentient.

"Madame GM," the fruit basket spoke, lowering to reveal that it was, in fact, Paul Heyman. "Welcome back."

I hesitated a moment. "What is it, Heyman?" I turned back to my laptop, getting ready to put it in its case. Heyman took that as an invitation and stepped in, dropping the basket on my desk.

"A gift from the boys and myself," he said, beaming.

I stared at him for a few minutes. "What do you want?"

He sat down. I glared at him – I hadn't remembered extending an invitation to make himself comfortable.

After he fussed, straightening his cuffs on his suit, he finally got down to business. "I was wondering if you'd given any thought to my proposal to come work for me."

I could feel my brow furrow. "I've accepted the position of General Manager of Smackdown," I replied slowly. "I would have thought that would be enough of an answer for you."

Heyman glanced around before standing up and shutting my door. Coming back to sit, he nodded towards my own chair. "Have a seat, Ms. Moore. We have a lot to discuss."

I settled in, moving the ridiculously-sized fruit basket out of my line of view.

"I knew that you were going to be offered the position here on Smackdown," he finally said, as if I hadn't worked this out for myself.

"I figured that out," I replied flatly. "Tell me something that I'm not aware of."

"You're probably not aware that it was my idea to have the match for your freedom, and not Mr. McMahon's."

I tilted my head. This did surprise me a great deal.

"Why?"

"It's very simple, Ms. Moore. There is one burning goal that I've wanted to accomplish since arriving in the WWE. Can you guess what it is?" I remained silent, shaking my head. "I want it _all_," he continued. "I don't want Raw. I don't want Smackdown. I want them both, and everything in between."

"Interesting," I said, somewhat genuinely. "How do I fit into that plan?"

"I want the two of us to end the brand split. I want you to come work for me."

I leaned back in my chair, contemplating these statements. "Why should I? I just accepted this position. I'm going to make Smackdown as great as I made Raw. Why should I come play second fiddle to the likes of you?"

"Because it's going to happen whether you want it to or not, Elizabeth," Heyman replied, appearing almost sympathetic. "I'll do the same thing to you here that I did on Raw – run you out of town."

"I'm older and wiser, Heyman. That won't happen this time."

"Not in the same way, Ms. Moore. But I will find a way, rest assured." He paused for a few moments, studying me. "Why would you want to continue to work for Vince McMahon anyway? That man allowed you to be abused and beaten at the hands of one of his superstars for the sake of entertainment. He was going to let Dean use you and then, only when he _himself_ had a use for you, would he swoop in and be your knight in shining armor."

I could feel my hands clenching into fists, the fingernails biting into the skin of my palms. His words rang too true for my liking.

"I rescued you from that fate, Ms. Moore. I saw what was happening and I made the decision to pull you out. I riled up Sheamus. I told Ambrose about your conversation – perhaps with a few embellishments. I created the entire situation, and then I told Ambrose that he had to lose. He wasn't happy with me – he truly does despise that Irishman – but in the end, he did it for the greater good."

My jaw was clenched. I could feel the truth behind his words, and that was the worst part about the whole thing. He wasn't lying to me. I contemplated that fact for a few minutes, tracing everything back.

"Everything," I said, shaking my head as it all clicked into place. "You orchestrated everything, right from the start. It was brilliant – force me out of Raw, stick me with Ambrose to demoralize me, pull me out at the right time so you could look good when you confessed…." I looked up. "Have me put in as Smackdown GM, but so broken by Ambrose that I doubted my own abilities." I waited. He didn't deny a word of it. "Brilliantly played."

"Thank you," Heyman said, a smug smile on his face.

"And Mr. Barrett? One of yours?"

Heyman nodded. "With a little persuasion. I didn't think you'd be nearly that tough, but I'm glad to see that you were."

I rocked back and forth in my chair for a few minutes, my mind running in overdrive. "And Ambrose," I said flatly, "all of that was an act?"

"Every last moment," Heyman replied. "Although, from what I understand, he grew to have a grudging respect for you. He was very much in awe of your ability to maintain your head when he was at his most vicious. Not many people could have done that."

"The back and forth, the brutality with the plays at romance…."

"To keep you unbalanced," Heyman said gently. "Dean enjoyed the brutality. It comes naturally to him. The romance…we needed to do a little work on."

I nodded. Somewhere in me, something slid back into place. Relief flooded through me. It had all been an act designed to decimate me, and I had survived it.

"Thank God it all makes sense now. I'd worked out most of it, but I must admit that I am…impressed."

"Does that mean you'll take the job?" Heyman asked, leaning forward.

"It means I'm very strongly considering it." I was surprised to hear those words come out of my mouth, but it was the truth. "What I would need from you is an outline on how this is going to happen. I want to know what my role is and will be in the future. I'm not going to be running out to get coffee for the boys. I want input."

A small smile broke out on his face. "Ms. Moore, I expect nothing less. Let's have a meeting later this week to discuss all of that in detail."

He stood and offered me his hand. I stood and shook it. "A pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Moore."

"Likewise, Mr. Heyman."


	5. Chapter 5

"Whoa! You worried about getting scurvy, Lizzy?"

I couldn't see where I was going around the ridiculously-sized fruit basket, so I was grateful when it was taken from my hands and placed on a table to my right.

"A welcome back gift," I told Sheamus, smiling. "I don't know when I'll ever eat that many oranges."

"If you want some help –"

I laughed and immediately began tearing at the cellophane. "Take it," I replied. "I am going to fill your pockets with oranges."

"Actually," Sheamus said, reaching out to stop my hands, "I was going to offer to go back to your room and help you with it."

My breath caught in my throat as I turned to look at him curiously. He smiled, a bit nervously. "I like you, Liz," he said frankly.

"Oh Sheamus," I replied, shaking my head. "No. It's not you, it's…"

"Ambrose," he finished flatly.

I nodded. "Maybe not in the way you think, though. I'm just not in a good place right now after everything he put me through. That alone is enough, but there's also the fact that I'm technically your boss now."

His face fell a little bit. "I understand." He suddenly brightened. "Hey, with the draft – maybe I'll get sent to Raw. I could have the opportunity to beat Ambrose within an inch of his life and maybe then you'll have a drink with me some night."

I managed to laugh. "Maybe. But I will tell you that I'll be doing my best to keep you here. I like having you in this locker room."

He grinned. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me, Lizzy."

I smiled back. "I'm still going to fill your pockets with oranges," I teased.

"You're going to put your hands in my pants as a consolation prize? Not sure I can turn that down," he joked right back.

Rolling my eyes, I loaded him up with fruit. "I have no idea what to do with this," I said conversationally.

"We could go chuck it at people in the parking lot. I thought I saw Heyman out there. He'd make a damn good target."

I glanced up at him. "One night back and you're trying to get me fired? I didn't realize just how much you wanted to have a drink with me."

He bent down and kissed me suddenly; his mouth pressed lightly against mine before I had a chance to really react.

He pulled back after a moment. "Sorry, Liz," he said, his cheeks turning red. "I got carried away."

"It's no big deal," I replied, trying to smile in spite of my churning stomach. "Let's just not do that again, all right?"

He nodded, and I went to pick up the fruit basket. "Time for me to head to the hotel," I said with false cheeriness. "I'll see you next week."

I nearly-bolted for my car, a black ire roiling in me.

When Sheamus had kissed me, I'd wanted to hit him. I had told him there, in plain English, that it wasn't acceptable. So what did he do? What did he do? He rushed ahead and did what he wanted anyway.

God, I was so sick of these assholes trying to take whatever they wanted from me without a second thought. Jobs, kisses, sex, my fucking sanity.

I hit the steering wheel and before long was pummeling it, smartly avoiding the horn.

After I had exhausted myself, I simply started crying. This wasn't me. I wasn't the type of person that became enraged so easily. Angry, sure. I could lose my temper quickly. But this darkness inside of me had nothing to do with who I truly was.

It scared me, my moods changing so quickly; the fact that I became, for example, irate over a simple kiss was a terrifying thought.

Heyman and company had done their job a little too well. I was incredibly broken, to the point where I wouldn't be able to put myself back together.

And goddamnit, that wasn't fair. It wasn't right.


	6. Chapter 6

I stayed awake for a long time that night, trying to calm my weary head. I had a lot to consider, and doing it in such a fragile state wasn't a great idea.

Finally, still awake at six a.m., I was sure I'd made my decision.

I was angry. I was disillusioned. And there was no way I could effectively run Smackdown by myself.

I didn't like it, but I was going to make a deal with the devil.

And then I was going to go to the Wellness Office and get a fucking therapist. Maybe someday I'd be ready to run things again…but that day wasn't today, and I wasn't sure who I'd been kidding when I thought it was possible.

That decision finally made, I dropped my head on the pillow and got some sleep. I was due to fly out that afternoon, and it wasn't coming fast enough.

I called Heyman when I woke and accepted his offer. He was elated. We agreed to keep our meeting for the following week to discuss strategy and also to sign an actual contract. I felt better after that particular chore was done.

I walked back through my door that evening, relieved to be there. It felt safe. It felt normal. There were no conspiracies here, no Irishmen trying to kiss me, no psychopaths to break me into tiny pieces and piss on my remains.

I was getting myself unpacked when my phone rang. For the first time since I'd left him, Dean Ambrose was calling me.

"Hello?" I picked up, attempting to sound brave and disinterested.

He cleared his throat. "Hi, Liz. It's Dean."

"Hello, Dean," I replied, trying to keep my voice calm. "What can I do for you?"

"Paul told me he spoke to you about coming on-board, and that you've agreed to it."

"He did," I confirmed, "and I have."

"That's great news. We – me, Seth, and Roman – are all really glad to have you." He paused. "Paul told me that you had some…questions about me. He didn't want me to call, but I thought I at least owed you that."

I closed my eyes. "You don't owe me anything, Ambrose," I stated simply. "He explained everything pretty well. You performed admirably." I tried not to spit that last word out in disgust.

He was quiet for a few moments. "Not all of it was performance."

I laughed, a bitter sound even to my own ears. "Are you going to tell me that your attempts at romance were genuine?"

"No. That was probably the least genuine thing I've ever done," he admitted. "But I did very much enjoy other…things…that happened."

"You enjoyed fucking me," I said, shaking my head. "We've passed the stage of being delicate with one another."

"I did," he agreed. "I think about you a lot in that regard."

"Thanks. You're not making it even more awkward at all if we have to start working together," I snapped. "Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

"No. I also wanted to tell you that a lot of what I told you was true."

The statement hung strangely in the air between us. "So you were acting in order to get me to perform certain actions and behave a certain way, but you were also telling me the truth? That doesn't make sense, Ambrose."

He sighed. "Oh Lizzy. Did it never occur to you that I was telling you the truth as a means to an end? I wasn't lying – there is something about you that's just so appealing. Especially when you're fighting me tooth and nail to survive. Especially when you're doing your best to hurt me right back. Being with you in those moments is exhilarating."

"Why are you telling me this now? What difference does it make to you?"

"I'm telling you so that you know I still want you. I don't want there to be any misunderstandings or any more secrets between us, Elizabeth. We're going to be partners; we're going to be part of the same team. We each need to know where the other stands."

"I hate everything about you," I replied evenly. "I can't stand the thought of you. I pray daily for your rotting, stinking soul to find its way into the deepest level of Hell and burn for all of eternity. I want you to suffer."

He chuckled. "Careful talking to me like that. It just brings those feelings for you closer to the surface."

"Ambrose, I say this with great pleasure – you can literally go fuck yourself."

I hung up on him, irritated. My phone started ringing again immediately. I ignored the call. My text message notification chirped. I couldn't help myself – I glanced at the screen and saw my own address staring back at me.

The notification chirped again. 'Unless you want to wake up with one pissed-off son-of-a-bitch in bed with you, you'll pick up the fucking phone.'

I rolled my eyes, but when the next call came in I answered.

"What?"

"Still jumping through my hoops, Elizabeth," he sighed. "I was half-hoping you were going to be defiant and ignore my call. I would have loved to come wake you up like only I know how."

"Ambrose, go find some slut to fuck and leave me the fuck alone. I am in no mood for your shit tonight."

He laughed. "Oh, I will. I'll trot my ass right down to the bar and find some pretty young thing. Do you want pictures? Maybe video? I know how much you enjoyed watching me fuck that redhead. Your pussy was dripping when I got to you."

"Now we both know you're exaggerating the truth. You can't lie to someone who was there, jackass."

"But I did, Lizzy. I lied to you over and over again. How does that make you feel?"

"What, are you my fucking therapist now? What do you want from me, Ambrose?"

"I want you to tell me," he said, his voice low, "just how badly I've broken you. I want to know that I managed to rip little pieces of you apart completely."

I bit my lip so hard blood began to fill my mouth. "Fine," I snapped. "You want to hear it? Fine. I am pissed off all the fucking time. When I walk around, people are afraid to talk to me. They go out of their way to avoid me. I am on the verge of blowing up every single waking moment, and I hate it. I have scars from your fucking sick game, and I hate those too. I hate _you_ like I have never hated another human being, and if I could get away with it I'd fucking kill you. Do you hear me? I would tear your fucking body apart with my bare hands and feed it to wild fucking dogs. And then I would piss on your grave, Ambrose. I would dance and laugh over your dead body."

He was quiet for a long time. Finally, unbelievably, he laughed softly.

"Thanks, Lizzy," he murmured, his voice so low I had to strain to hear him. "I'm ready to go fuck the bitch I have in the other room now. Do you want to see what you did for me? I don't think I've ever been this hard without fucking you."

I wanted to puke. "Just leave me alone, you sick fuck."

"Your loss," he replied easily. "Just know that tonight, when some girl is crying beneath me, begging for me to stop – I'm only thinking of you, babe."

The line went dead.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for reading! Next part is up, "Damage Me to Feed Your Senses." Since I made you wait a bit longer than usual, story is also a bit longer than usual. Enjoy!


End file.
